


Stratagem

by Snowgrouse



Category: Casablanca (1942)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, BDSM, Belts, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Renault, Blackmail, Bondage, Canon Bisexual Character, Closeted Character, Closeted Character/Unabashedly Queer Character, Closeted Strasser, Come Eating, Comeshitting, Degradation, Dirty Ass To Mouth, Dirty Talk, Face Slapping, Fisting, Hatesex, Humiliation, Implied Rick/Louis, M/M, Magnificent Bastard Renault, Mild Scat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Military Uniforms, Nazis, Orgasm Delay, POV Bisexual Character, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Scat, Seduction, Self-Fisting, Snark, Uniforms, Watersports, World War II, facesitting, mild watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2696228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowgrouse/pseuds/Snowgrouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Renault sets out to humiliate Major Strasser in a most satisfactory way.</p><p>
  <i>I whispered sweet nothings in his ear of German-French co-operation, of search warrants and detainments and brushed my fingertips across the swell of his cock; soon enough he was flushed, nearly choking on the remains of his caviar.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>But no, Heinrich, I thought; not tonight. We had to deal with Ugarte and Laszlo first, and thank heavens for that: any excuse to stretch out the erotic tension, to stir him more with a little cruelty here and there. I promised him a grisly death and a juicy interrogation tomorrow, and I swear I could feel his cock twitch as I withdrew my hand and bade him good night. The lust in his eyes, awakened by a hint of my power, a yearning to see me exercise said power--not only a homosexual, then, not only a sadist, but there was obviously a little masochist in there, too. Heinrich, the naughty little boy squirming in delight, realising the moment he had met someone who could truly drape him over his knee and give him a sound thrashing! Oh, this was almost too easy.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stratagem

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am aware I am going to hell. Beta thanks to the lovely Acitymadeofsong, who's sharing the handbasket with me. Also a shoutout to Nuraicha, chauffeuse of said handbasket, for pushing me over the edge into writing this in the first place. Zero thanks to Claude "needs more homoerotic subtext" Rains and Conrad "what's a closet" Veidt, however.
> 
> You enabling little _shits._

Well, well, well. Would you just look at what ol' Adolf dropped into my lap? Major Heinrich Strasser of the Third Reich, fresh off the aeroplane and already I could tell the man had a homosexual streak a mile wide. _Germany, Germany, now you're not even trying!_ I thought to myself as I offered him my limpest handshake, my meekest smile. And the way he looked back at me--six foot and then some, striking blue eyes, a man perhaps even beautiful underneath the right circumstances (such as myself)--oh, this was just too easy; the game had already been won. The way he walked, so much like a woman--perhaps a transvestite wearing silk knickers; perhaps even an exclusive homosexual, I thought. Whereas _I_ prided myself on being _selectively_ homosexual, thank you very much--I like to think I maintain some standards at least, whether my catch be male or female.

Not that he was anywhere near to fulfilling those standards, really--the whole puffed-up übermensch thing was a bit of a passion-killer, and as a rule, I prefer bedding people with more than two brain cells to rub together. By the time we had reached the city centre, I was sure he didn't have much more than swastikas and conceit knocking about in that pretty skull of his. Shame, such a shame, but needs must.

For there was but one way, one easy way I could wrap him around my finger--if said wrapping was a skilled seduction and said finger my prick. One must make sacrifices for one's country at times, must one not?

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not a sentimentalist, but people (and I use the term loosely) of his sort need to be taught a lesson. Continental France may have yielded to his little goose-stepping friends, but if Heinrich (we were on first-name terms by the time we reached his hotel) thought he could boss Captain Louis Renault around, he was in for a rude awakening. That he should decide who enters and leaves Casablanca? Pah! Not a soul leaves this town unless it's through my office or my bed, and that's that.

The way he looked at me and squeezed my fingers as he stepped out of the taxi--why, I half expected him to kiss my hand! I almost felt sorry for him. 

Yet what little qualms I had about humiliating him evaporated later that night at Rick's. In true National Socialist style, he was a scumbag through and through and I stopped counting my drinks after the seventh, turning off the last of my few emotions so I wouldn't be sick. Again, I am not a sentimentalist, but the look on Rick's face when Strasser did his whole dossier spiel--good Lord. Rick's display of sarcastic defiance was indicative of a level of distress I had never seen him exhibit before, and coming from a man with balls of solid steel, it signalled true danger. Oh, I could've shot the smug German bastard there and then, and not with just veiled insults.

But poisons are a little more subtle than bullets, so I offered mine to Strasser sugar-coated: a little champagne, a little caviar, a little bloodsports. God, I swear I could see an erection in his trousers as he watched my boys restrain Ugarte, sucking on his cigarette like it was a miniature cock--if only he knew what I had in store for him! All through the night, I kept up a magnificent display of charm, of wit reaching Wildean heights--not an accomplishment unusual for a master of the art such as I, but that night I gave the performance of a lifetime.

And then the earthquake hit.

That earthquake was a woman.

It's always a woman, isn't it? If Rick had been distressed before, now he truly was out of his depth--what with his heart in tatters (and I can always tell), he sure as hell wouldn't be able to offer me much backup in ejecting the Reich. I can't blame him; that type of tall, elegant Nordic beauty had always left me weak at the knees and I would have probably been adoring at her feet, too, had there not been more _pressing_ matters to take care of. So, determined not to make Rick's love triangle a quadrangle (I was quite sure he would soon return for a dose of comfort from old Louie, anyway--it's not like he had other friends with benefits the size of mine) I headed off to woo my own long-legged beauty.

Perhaps it was the level of alcohol in my bloodstream; perhaps I'd been infected by the amorous tension now radiating off the three star-crossed lovers, but now it was easier for me to start playing seduce-the-scumbag. As Strasser watched Laszlo like a hawk (perhaps I should let him pluck Laszlo after all, to clear the coast for Rick? Things were getting more and more complicated by the minute), I leaned closer to him, closer. At first, I made it seem friendly, casual, but by the end of the evening, he was watching me more than he was watching Laszlo, his eyes flashing (those lashes!) as I let my hand rest on his thigh. I whispered sweet nothings in his ear of German-French co-operation, of search warrants and detainments and brushed my fingertips across the swell of his cock; soon enough he was flushed, nearly choking on the remains of his caviar.

But no, Heinrich, I thought; not tonight. We had to deal with Ugarte and Laszlo first, and thank heavens for that: any excuse to stretch out the erotic tension, to stir him more with a little cruelty here and there. I promised him a grisly death and a juicy interrogation tomorrow, and I swear I could feel his cock twitch as I withdrew my hand and bade him good night. 

The lust in his eyes, awakened by a hint of my power, a yearning to see me exercise said power--not only a homosexual, then, not only a sadist, but there was obviously a little masochist in there, too. Heinrich, the naughty little boy squirming in delight, realising the moment he had met someone who could truly drape him over his knee and give him a sound thrashing! Oh, this was almost too easy, I laughed as I picked up my cap and left.

It had been a while since I'd been to Berlin, and as I fell to bed with my cock in my hand, I tried to recall the most popular fetishes among the men I had seen there. Transvestism had been all the rage, oh yes, homosexuality all but synonymous with the city, but what about the actual paraphilias? Enemas and whips had been quite popular, I'd been told, even if I had gracefully declined that night I was offered a show where I saw a man descend into a bathtub with a tube up his rectum. I sincerely hoped I wouldn't have to go that far, so I focused on analysing whatever evidence I had of Strasser's leanings. A woman's hips, a cocksucker's mouth--no, no, there was little doubt in my mind that he was a receptive through and through. This made me smile, considering what all of Casablanca was thinking I was doing right now: oh, darlings, if there was an arse about to be kissed here, surely it was going to be mine. And the idea of that, of Strasser looking up at me with those pretty peepers of his, moaning as he worshipped my arse with his tongue was what made me finally come in my hand and fall into a deep, satisfied sleep. 

***

As expected, Laszlo put up a brave resistance--really, I had to admire the man's courage. Strasser had thought to wave his wurst at him, to show him who was unter and who was über, but as I'd predicted, Germany lost this round. I smiled to myself as I watched Strasser whip out menacing stare after menacing stare, all for nothing--his frustration only served to make him more vulnerable to my charms. Perhaps I should send Laszlo flowers to thank him, I thought; my prick stirred against my thigh as I knew it would get plenty of action tonight. As if my sweet Heinrich hadn't been measuring it with his eyes already, thinking I hadn't noticed--how _had_ he earned that Iron Cross? Sucking French cock to extract military secrets? 

Well, then. After this morning's defeat, I should comfort the poor man by reminding him of what he was good at. I persuaded him to remain in my office for a while longer, just long enough to take my bait--and there she was, Francine jiggling in and draping herself elegantly in her chair. You see, she owes me, owes me a great deal for my turning a blind eye to her business--although I should call it a public service, really; that's how good she is at soothing fevered male brows and God knows business is blooming right now. Normally, I extract payments from her through arrangements far more pleasant, but today she was to play the part of a hapless refugee girl, ready to sacrifice her honour for a visa. And how she performed, first demure and staring at her hands, then twirling her blonde curls as I turned on the charm! She'd always been good at role-play, yet still I watched in awe as even Strasser was drawn to her, realising the erotic promise her gestures, her inferences held.

But his eyes kept returning to me, just as I'd hoped: with calculated smoothness, I edged closer and closer to Francine until I was sitting on the edge of the desk, firmly within her personal space, erotic tension crackling between us. It was through Francine's reactions, memories of our encounters that I now displayed my skill as a lover to Strasser: Francine's eyes following the line of my cock (and Strasser's following suit), her tongue peeking out to moisten her rouged lips as I shifted my hips closer to her, subtly just at fellatio height. Strasser observed us closely, unconsciously mimicking us, sucking just a little too hard on his cigarette as Francine leaned in close enough to kiss--or suck--and told me she was staying at the Lavoisier hotel.

I sucked on my cigarette, too, narrowing my eyes, spreading my legs just enough to give Strasser a good eyeful. With deliberate languor, I blew out a plume of smoke and lifted Francine's chin--oh, I could see the hair on her arms was standing on end! "I must say yours is a very tempting offer, my dear," I purred. "Yet I am afraid I can only accept it on one condition."

"And what's that?" Francine purred right back, uncrossing and crossing her legs, and now I could _smell her pussy_.

Perfect. I smirked and dropped the bombshell. "Only that you allow my friend Heinrich to join us."

Strasser went into a coughing fit, nearly swallowing his cigarette: I could see he was hard, too, now, his hands trembling as he excused himself and resumed coughing into his handkerchief.

Francine looked at him up and down, grinning as widely as I did. "I don't think that will be a problem," she said, then quickly turned her gaze to her hands, pretending modesty. "Six o'clock?"

I slid off the table like a cat and kissed her hand. "Six o'clock would be perfect, ma chérie." Ye gods, I had to fight myself not to slap her on her perfect arse as she left the office; I made a mental note to reward her with at least six screaming orgasms at the next available opportunity.

I slid into the chair Francine had occupied, still warm from those delicious buttocks of hers, sprawled to give Strasser yet another long, hard look at my cock. I was quite impressed: so he did respond to women at least a little, then.

"Do you like her?" I asked, lighting another cigarette.

"Well, I--" flustered, he busied himself stumping his.

"I thought you might," I said breezily. "All blonde and Aryan. Very good at obeying men's wishes, by the looks of it."

"Quite," Strasser said diplomatically, lighting another cigarette with shaking hands.

"I must apologise for not having had a chance to offer you the hospitality befitting your rank, Major," I crooned. "I hope this will make up for it. Do you know why I chose a Frenchwoman, and a refugee at that?" I asked, moving my hand to rest in my lap, stroking my erection blatantly, now.

"Well?" Strasser all but croaked, his eyes wide, now, as he followed my fingertips.

"Pregnancy would be _such_ an inconvenience to a girl on the run, so they are familiar with... alternative methods of taking a man." I waved my hand dismissively. "Oh, but you're a man of the world, Major; I need not elaborate. Besides, I must profess a certain fondness for the _derrière._ " I blew a ring of smoke into my dramatic pause. "How about you, Heinrich?"

Well, I had been expecting the whimper, but _not_ what followed it. His knees hit the floor and there he was, Major Strasser of the Third Reich with his head between my legs, nuzzling my erection. God, he was _pathetic,_ more pathetic than I could ever have hoped for, sniffing, mewling, so ashamed of himself he couldn't look me in the eye and I _loved_ that. Oh, I can't lie: there is a touch of the sadist to Louis Renault, too, and my cock _ached_ as I sunk my hand into what was left of Strasser's hair.

"So soon, Heinrich?" I tutted, forcing him to look up at me. "Only on the second date, too?"

He dug his cock out of his trousers, huffing, snarling through his moustache. "You little bastard."

"Not so little where it counts, as you can see," I grinned and swatted his hand away from my fly. God, his own cock--from what I could see from his pumping of it--was purpling, so packed with blood he must have been in pain. And look, there, even a little dribble at the tip, sliding over his white knuckles! Helpless arousal, or advanced venereal disease? I placed my hopes on the former instead of the latter.

"Do you want it, then, Heinrich? Hmm?" I asked him in my most saccharine voice.

"Yes," he barked, trying to undo my fly again, and once more I had to force his hand away, tighten my fist in his hair. And oh, the way he winced! The filthy bastard was clearly enjoying it, even if his voice was now but a low, metallic creak. "Stop playing games."

"But I need you to tell me what you want, Heinrich," I said in a calm, ever-patient teacher's voice. "Do you want to suck my cock?" I asked him, a jolt of heat pulsing through my erection as I said the words.

"Yes," he spat, struggling, panting in my grip.

"Yes, what?"

His eyes flashed with _delicious_ hatred, his entire body shivering from humiliation and arousal. "Yes, I want to suck your cock. Happy, now?"

I reeled, drunk from my power, drunk; yet I wanted to milk this moment for all its worth. "Ask nicely."

He whimpered through his nose, closing his eyes in shame, clawing at my thighs, now. "Stop making this into something more complicated than it is!"

"No, no, no, my boy. Didn't you hear me?" 

And upon the most suicidal of impulses, I slapped his cheek. The vilest of insults, enough to send me in front of a firing squad, yet he _allowed it_ \--the sheer outrageousness of this made my balls jump. You see, it was the lightest of taps, yet the shock of it made him _drip_ onto the floor. He only stared at me, the big cat I had just poked with a sharp stick, so desperate for his piece of meat he would do anything to get it. Oh, but this was _beautiful._

"Look me in the eye and say it," I said, lightly, raising my hand again, and God, God, he actually considered it. He thought of disobeying, that's how much he craved not just the cock, but _punishment_. The famous German fetish for discipline, perhaps? Or maybe it was the guilt he felt for his leanings? It was quite likely both, yet I wasn't going to let him have his cake so easily. 

Oh, no. This was just the apéritif in what I intended to make a full four-course meal.

"I am waiting, Heinrich," I sing-songed.

"I can have you thrown into a concentration camp for this," he snarled. 

Ah--a phrase so automatic I knew it for but the dying spasm of his defiance. Yet there was no time for hesitation, here; therefore, I slapped him again. "But you won't. Say it."

He looked up at me, his forehead scrunched up in a thousand wrinkles, his cornflower-blues watering, his tongue trembling in his mouth. "Please," he lisped. "Please let me suck your cock." With a dry sob in his throat, he let his lashes fall to his cheeks. _"Captain."_

Ten thousand volts hit my balls in that word, and groaning deep from my guts, I pressed his face into my crotch and _rubbed._ I clutched his head with both hands and thrusted, dizzy from his sobs, letting him smell all that he wanted to smell on me, the pussy and the sperm and the piss. "You can have all of it, my dear Heinrich," I snarled, "all of it, God--"

But not yet. No, no, Louis, not yet. With Herculean effort, I got up from my chair so fast he fell onto the floor, panting, furious as he watched me straighten out my uniform.

"Later tonight, that is."

He glared at me like a shot tigress, and I knew he could hit me now, could punch my lights out, could kill me where I stood, and my cock stood up ever harder. I did not give him time to answer, however, only made to open the door. I pressed the handle a little, enough to make the latch click.

That got him panicking, stumbling to his feet, tidying himself up in record time. Perhaps his English had failed him and that's why he didn't talk back? Amusing, quite amusing nevertheless, I smirked as I watched him pick up his gloves and his hat.

"Six o'clock, the Lavoisier," I said in my most pleasant voice as I opened the door, then followed it with a whisper. "Don't touch yourself."

***

**17:47, Hotel Lavoisier**

It was almost a shame I'd told Francine to never arrive, I thought as I lay on the opulent bed, smoking, watching the rotating of the ceiling fan. The times we'd had in this suite, the time I'd got Rick so drunk I'd got more out of him than just the usual quick grope and a suck--oh, but one must not dwell in the past. Instead, I imagined what Strasser must have been feeling right now as I stroked myself through my trousers (full white uniform, of course; I had seen the way he'd been looking at me when I'd worn it last night). If he was washing himself, grooming himself hysterically, quivering like a virgin girl, perhaps even pushing fingers into his arse to rinse it. Awfully touching, of course, but only to be expected of a man that vain, that repressed. 

And there it was, the knock-knock, right on the clock, although I had heard his steps in the hallway minutes before--so sweet of him that I laughed a little out loud. So much for blitzkrieg tactics--why, I half expected to find him with a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates under one arm! Thankfully, no such fripperies were evident, but even in the shadows, I could tell he was flushed, his eyes flashing pale, feverish.

"No one saw me come he--" he began, but I spun him inside and slammed him against the door, pulling him into a kiss by his tie. And the way he leaned down, the way he whimpered, opened his mouth and offered his tongue--I knew it, knew it; a little slut through and through. He pulled back for breath and peered into the shadows of the room--I'd made sure to leave only the warm, yellow bedside lights on.

"If you're looking for Francine, she was never going to come," I chuckled between kisses--nice to see he'd actually bothered with toothpaste--and walked him backwards to the sofa. "The romantic lighting is only for show. You know what they say," I murmured as I pulled him to sit in my lap, just like that, as if he had always been meaning to sit there. "It's always the whores who want to be fucked like ladies and the ladies who want to be fucked like whores."

At that, he laughed--nothing like a bit of good old misogyny for bonding with your fellow man--but I pulled out his tie and looped it around my fist, loving the way his thighs tensed around my hips. "Now, which one are you, Heinrich? Hmm?"

"You are such a little bastard," he snarled, rocking in my lap and undoing his fly, trying to lick my mouth.

I didn't let him. "And you are no lady," I said as I slid my other hand to his arse, stroking him between the buttocks through his trousers. "Else, you wouldn't have come." 

But oh, this was all getting too amicable, too reminiscent of the tussles between Rick and I. Strasser and I were enemies, and it was about time I reminded him of that. "Do you know what I think you are, Heinrich?" I said as I pushed him down to kneel between my legs and undid my trousers.

A quiet moment of reverence for my cock--I allowed him that, allowed him to measure it. The Germans use the metric system, too, don't they? Should I give him a second for each inch--that's eight, thank you--or generously allow him twenty-four, to adore each centimetre? Things were edging towards the latter and I did not mind this, did not mind this at all: my cock swelled further in my stroking hand, from the soft warmth of his breath, from the look in his eyes as I defined him with a whisper.

"I think you are a little _cocksucker,_ " I said and painted his lips with the tip of my cock. "Isn't that right?"

At that moment, he _hated_ me, hated me so much that he was shaking from rage, clutching his cock in his fist. He opened his mouth to answer, but at the last minute, chose to wrap it around my cock instead. Bless. And oh, it was good--certainly not the first time he had done this, but it must have been a while ago, from the way he savoured my taste, sucked it from my skin. And even if he had closed his eyes, he could not escape the fact that he was now sucking a man circumcised: I let him make his own--likely worst--conclusions about that, to heighten his shame, knowing what an aphrodisiac it was for him.

"Good boy," I said in my warmest voice, stroking his head like he was a child, loving the fury flashing in his eyes. "Good boy." And I must say I couldn't remain completely neutral under the circumstances: for a few, indulgent moments I relaxed, leaned back on the sofa and let myself become all cock, abandoning myself to the pleasure he was now giving me. God, but he was good with his lips and his tongue, wetting me thoroughly for a sweet, hot glide--the man sucked cock like a professional! Such a waste, I thought, such a waste. _With a mouth like that, what the hell are you in the Wermacht for?_ I wanted to ask him, but already knew the answer.

Power. That's all he was after. And I mustn't forget why I was here: to wrest said power from him--or, to be more precise, the power he _thought_ he wielded over what was _my_ territory, thank you very much.

Therefore, I pushed at his shoulders and reclaimed my cock. "I think it's time we slipped into something more comfortable, don't you?" He didn't seem to be familiar with the phrase, so I glanced at his rumpled uniform meaningfully and started to undo my own belt. "Go on."

That, at least, he understood. It truly was a shame we weren't lovers: I usually enjoy undressing them, teasing them, but for now, it was vitally important that I sit here, watching him undress for me. As much as I appreciated the greyhound lines of his body, the astonishing femininity of his waist and hips, it was his unease, the way his fingers shook that went straight to my balls.

That, and the look on his face as he realised he stood there stark naked, a stick-thin, balding man of fifty, and that I had not yet taken my clothes off.

"Well?" he snapped, trying not to stare at my prick like the offensive weapon it was. 

I smirked and beckoned to him with my finger. He loomed over me, trying to use his height to intimidate me as he approached me, but cheerfully, I ignored this and patted my thigh. "Come and sit here. As you were before."

He glanced at my cock and made to straddle it, trying to take it in his hand to guide it to his arse. I burst into laughter at that. "Prepared yourself, have you?"

He grunted and fumbled, refusing to look me in the eye. "I'm not a complete imbecile."

"Could have fooled me," I said, but before he could answer, I took a tin of salve from my breast pocket and scooped some onto my middle finger, then applied that middle finger to his anus. "Nevertheless... there. I find things run better with plenty of lubrication, you see."

He hugged my shoulders, moaning against me. "Oh, God."

"Incidentally, that's exactly what the ladies say at this juncture," I said breezily, but lowered my voice into a huskier tone, brushing my moustache against his ear. "It really is a shame this isn't a little pussy," I said, letting the words pop wet out of my mouth, slithering into his ear. I ignored his moan, ignored his shivering and rolled my fingertip around the full, protruding rim of his anus. "But it almost feels like one!" I exclaimed in mock-shock. "You have been practicing, I see."

"Shut up," he groaned and pulled me into a violent kiss, pushing his tongue into my mouth. Well, perhaps he had a point and it was time for me to use my mouth for something else instead. I countered his attack with a suck, another, sucks forceful enough to make his arse twitch around my finger as I started to push in deeper. I could tell he had indeed been washing himself, and again I thought of a little pussy, so hot and wonderful he felt around my finger. 

"Do you know what I do to little pussies to get them ready, Heinrich?" I asked as I pulled back for breath, now inside him to the second knuckle, him trembling atop me.

"What?" he asked, his eyes glazed as he stole another kiss from me, not truly caring for anything apart from trying to get my finger deeper inside of himself. 

I hooked my finger with far more force than necessary. "Why, I lick them," I whispered. "Lick them until they're all nice and soft and wet for me. How do you like the sound of that? Hmm?"

"Please," he panted, his forehead against mine. "Please, oh God, please do--"

Brutally, mercilessly, I laughed in his face. "That _I_ should lick _you?_ " I scooped up more salve, coated the tip of my cock and pressed it to his arse. "Did you really think I would?"

 _"Fuck you!"_ he shouted and slammed my shoulders into the sofa.

"Oh, but you can _swear_ in English, too?" I laughed. "I must say I'm impressed."

He roared and made to hit me, but I snatched his wrists in my hand and pushed up with my hips, all of him stiffening as my cock slid inside his body. He cried out, a pitiful, pained cry, his face twisted in agony as gravity--and whatever he had done to stretch himself before he had arrived--forced his entire weight onto my cock, penetrating him completely. 

"Fuck you," he still hacked out from between clenched teeth, "fuck you," pathetic little curses strangled by the sobs in his throat.

"Oh, no, no, no," I chuckled in my most condescending voice. "I see it's time for a little grammar lesson. Since it's _I_ who am inside _you,_ I'd say _you_ were the one being fucked right now. Isn't that right?" 

"Fuck you--"

"Enough!" I let go of his wrists and yanked him down into a teeth-clashing kiss, thrusted up into him so hard I hurt myself, yet the knowledge that I hurt him more made me repeat the thrust over and over. True enough, he yowled in pain, the tigress now a she-cat, and I'd never truly forced myself on anyone like this before, no, no. I had always made it worth the girls' while, so it terrified even me to realise how good this felt: the stiff, cramped flesh now squeezing my cock more sweetly than a willing pussy ever could. 

Yet, to my chagrin, the way he now took his cock and started to stroke it, started to ride me proved to me that this was not true rape. Almost a shame, the monster inside of me laughed and made me thrust viciously into him still; almost a shame. Furiously, I thought of all the possible ways I had left to humiliate him with, to make sure he would regret this tomorrow morning. And the more easily he slid up and down on me, the deeper his guts allowed my cock--now, _that_ was inspirational.

"You like this, don't you?" I asked him, my hand joining his on his cock.

"Yes," he hissed, now groaning greedily as he rocked his hips on top of me. 

"And that's why you cleaned your arse? Tell me, Heinrich. When you were measuring my cock in the office, would you have known it was this big? Hmm? That I would get _this_ deep inside of you?"

"Yes," he spat back at me--oh, he was starting to get good at this game, not taking the obvious bait. However, if he thought I was just boasting, he was wrong. 

"I think you're lying," I whispered against his lips, grinning. "You see, I don't think you've cleaned yourself deep enough. In fact, I think you're getting me a little _dirty._ Is that what gets you off, then? Is that it?"

He shuddered a little--from shame or from thrill, it was impossible to tell. He masked his nervousness under a laugh. "I know how to clean up."

I shook my head and tutted. "You'd better prove it. Because if you've made a mess," I said with the softest of kisses against his ear, "I'm going to make you _lick it up._ "

And oh, the _noise_ he made at that--such a dirty, dragging, umlaut-laden throat-pant! He paused in his ride for a second, his hand flying on his cock like he was about to come, and I knew I had no time to waste. I had to get him before he had time to think, before what little reason he possessed could suffocate the dark, filthy, fragrant perversion I had just hit upon.

"Clean, are you?" I captured his wrists and held him still, his pupils now wide, his cock so wet it was about to make a mess on my uniform, and I couldn't have that. I got up, shoved him onto his knees and lifted my cock to his mouth. "Prove it."

I looked at him past my cock, the shining slickness of it, at the vile, vile delicacy I now offered to his mouth. He only stared at me, his throat bobbing in the way that could only signify a suffocated whimper. His erection had not gone down at all as he now measured me; the lights were too low for either of us to tell whether I was clean or not. And that was _it,_ that was it exactly: the risk of filth was what now aroused him so.

Still, he hesitated. "What's the matter, Heinrich?" I said, tilting my head, my cock now so close he flinched backwards a little. "Are you _scared?_ " I crooned, a boy daring another. 

"I'm going to have you killed for this," he hissed.

"Oh, really?" I laughed, tracing his cheek with my fingertips. "What are you going to tell them? Your little friends? _'Captain Renault made me taste my shit and like it?'"_

And at that, he _wailed._ I had thought to tease him more, but his own perversion took over and graciously did all my work for me. I only had to stand there and marvel as he closed his eyes and swallowed my gleaming cock into his mouth, sobbing pitifully as he sucked his taste off me. Helpless, he trembled and stroked himself, moaning, and in the foam that now gathered on his moustache, I could see not only white but the tiniest hint of yellow, barely visible in the half-light--oh, I could have died happy, then. The Third Reich's best, whimpering at my feet, jerking himself into a violent orgasm at _the taste of his shit on a French cock._

Louis Renault, Grand Officer of the Legion of Honour, I decorated myself, then--and at that, I could no longer hold back. Perhaps this was the only safe time to do so, too, I thought as with a delighted cry, I let go and emptied my balls into his mouth. Of course, the mood he was in, he _loved_ that, and I obliged, filling him faster than he could swallow me down. I did not let him pull his head back at all, fucked him viciously until he was coughing, until my sperm was trickling out of his nostrils.

"Keep it hard," I snarled, and I'm afraid my voice creaked a little, that my legs trembled a little. Yet even now, I kept up the tactic of surprise, not giving him time to even _think_ of protesting, and kicked off my trousers. "Come here," I huffed and sat back on the sofa, spreading my legs and guiding his head between my buttocks. Yes, I was greedy, manic from my need; a mere hint of having soiled his mouth was not enough for me. I wanted this bastard dirtied, messied, _fouled._

"Lick it and I'll fuck you some more," I promised him and spread my buttocks for him, offering him my arsehole.

It was amazing, really, that even at this stage, he was still capable of outrage. "Enough," he panted, wiping his mouth, making to get up.

"But we haven't finished," I said, and it was not a plea, no. It was a command. "Come here."

"Good night," he said and headed for his discarded clothes.

Who the hell did he think he was? I laughed incredulously as I let go of my legs. "Oh, no, you don't."

Yet he ignored me and turned around, started to put on his trousers. Oh, had nobody ever taught him to never turn his back on an enemy? In seconds, I had tackled him onto the floor. The mirror on the wall nearly came off its hinges as he put up a token struggle--I suppose him watching out for the mirror was what helped me gain the upper hand with relative ease.

"Get off me!" he hissed, spat, and I was reminded of the time I'd tried to wash my cat. So much flailing, mewling, clawing and all for nothing: soon enough, I'd slipped my belt around his wrists and tied his hands behind his back.

He spasmed on the floor, groaning into the carpet. "You'll pay for this," another empty threat, but his heart wasn't in it, I could tell.

Smiling, I spun him onto his back. "There. Much better. Does that make it easier for you? Now you can say I forced you," I said pleasantly as I straddled his face and brushed his cheek with my cock. 

He spat hair from his mouth, all the veins on his temples bulging from strain. "You are a dead man, Renault."

"And you are a faggot, Major. Again, what are you going to tell them? What would they think if they found out you came here out of your own volition, hmm? With an erection the size of a U-boat?" 

He turned his face away and closed his eyes. Yet when I reached back to clasp his cock, to stroke it, it was hard once more--quite remarkable for a man of fifty (excluding myself, of course). And even more remarkable for a man who still pretended he didn't want this. Hell, had this been anyone else, at this moment I would have felt proud of what I was now giving them, fulfilling a fantasy they must have harboured for years. Why, if there had been no satisfaction in this for me, I would have been revolted at my pandering to his perversions like this. 

No. Scratch that. I _was_ revolted. If he was enjoying himself this much, was this not the opposite of the punishment I had been meaning to give him? Was I now pleasuring the oppressor, offering him exactly what he wanted, the homosexual ravishment of his dreams? Was I, Louis Renault, now all but _the gigolo of Nazi Germany?_

Yet it was then that Nazi Germany let out the quietest of sobs. My little Heinrich scrunched his eyes shut and his eyelashes were glimmering with tears, even if he tried to hide them to the last. "Please--please. Please don't tell them," he whispered into the carpet, barely audible. "I'll do anything," he said, quietly. "Anything," he repeated and turned to face me, the tears he had held back now running down his temples.

 _Oh, Heinrich. You shouldn't have said that._ Because it was at that that I felt my cock stir again, bobbing against my belly in cruel delight. I took my cock and wiped his tears with it, and if I hadn't been shivering from the depth of my own sadism before, I was now as he kissed my cock, kissed it like his salvation depended on it. 

"Shh, Heinrich, shh," I said, stroking his hair and now he was crying openly, gasping for air between kisses and sucks. "I promise not to tell anyone, if you do as I ask," I said softly, gently. "If you promise to behave, I can make it good for you, too," I murmured and rocked myself against his face, his tears now running down to my balls. "I can make it so good for you, so good."

"Please," he cried, choking on his own phlegm. "I promise."

Leaving aside the fact that never in a million years would I trust a German promise, I hummed in approval and moved forwards, squatting on top of him, brushing my arse across his mouth. "Show me that you really mean it," I said. "That you want this."

He swallowed and looked up at me, blinking tears from his eyes. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"There's a good little faggot," I said, so warmly it was a compliment. "Nevertheless, I would like to hear you ask nicely."

"Please," he whispered, closing his eyes, beautiful in his damnation. _"Captain."_

I must admit I let out a somewhat undignified noise as he said it, as his tongue first touched my arsehole. I hadn't bothered with a shower that day, knowing how the scent of a man turned him on, and shivered at the thought of what he must have been tasting. Yet it was the noise, the noise of hopeless, illicit delight he let out as he licked me, lapped at me that made it impossible for me to remain still. My thighs were hurting too much from squatting on top of him, so I turned around and knelt over him, offering him better access than before. And oh, the way his belly dipped, the way his cock jerked as he tasted me! He pushed his hips up, clearly seeking my touch, but I denied him that: I only sat on his mouth with my entire weight, taking his cry of despair deep into my guts, so deep. 

Oh, but that felt wonderful, so wonderful I had to stroke myself, grind my arse against his snorts and his huffs. Even as I shivered from pleasure, I had to wonder if he hadn't performed this act before, too, that's how skilled the flicker of his tongue felt. Yet it was hard to get this act wrong on a man with an arse as sensitive as mine: each one of his licks, each little scratch of his moustache sent a jolt of heat to my balls, his moans now reverberating in my very chest. In fact, I was close to coming again--too soon, too soon. 

I wasn't going to let him off that easily. I wrapped my hand around his balls and squeezed, twisted until he was howling in pain, his erection wilting a little. "Stop."

When I turned around, his entire face was wet; he smelled a little musty, dirty, yet his tears had dried. His face was, in fact, unreadable: I was a little disappointed now that he was no longer fighting back. I wanted to get some reactions out of him at least; thus, I licked my palm and wrapped it around his cock, stroking him softly.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

At that, he laughed and tried to kiss me, but I wouldn't let him, knowing where that tongue had been. Yet the most perverse thing of all was the happiness I now saw on his face: he looked at me with his eyes half-closed, like a satisfied lover. "You taste good," he purred.

And that shocked me. Was the poor man falling in love with me? Was he hoping this would become a permanent arrangement? I did not know what to think. For once, he had caught me off guard, stunned me. Not with his angry glares, not with his textbook Nazi threats, but with the sweet, blissful smile now blossoming upon his face. I had to turn my face away to think; again, I squeezed his balls until I was sure he was in agony. "Don't get any ideas," I murmured.

He just laughed--oh, God. I hated this. He had realised it, the bastard; about a day late, but he'd realised it: that I couldn't use my sexual power over him if he got off on it. I had thought to violate him, to humiliate him, but the more he enjoyed it, the more used _I_ felt. _Damn it._ I had to think, and think fast. 

I got up and made my way to the telephone beside the bed. "What's Heinze's number again? 3598?"

"What are you doing?!" he cried out, kicking himself into a sitting position.

I made to pick up the receiver. "You didn't _behave,_ Heinrich. You failed to keep your end of the bargain, so why should I keep mine?"

"You son of a bitch!" he struggled to his feet and came at me, as much as a man can come at another when his hands are bound behind his back. 

Now, _that_ was more like it, I thought and burst into delighted laughter; I had him pinned face down onto the bed within seconds. "You said you'd do as I asked, Heinrich. Did I ask for cow eyes, hmm?" I said. "Did I ask for romance?"

"No," he groaned into the mattress.

"Well, then," I said, shrugged off the last of my clothes and lit a cigarette, sitting down next to him. "There's still something you could do for me." I caressed his arse with my hand.

"Why should I, if you're going to call them anyway?" he growled, yet I could sense he was again near tears.

"Come, now," I murmured and dipped my thumb between his buttocks, stroking his anus softly. "I am sure we can sort this out amicably."

"Get on with it, then," he mumbled.

"No, no, no, no," I said and put out my cigarette. "You see, it's not just a matter of the old in-and-out." I spat on two of my fingers and started to push them inside him, pausing when he jerked from pain. "I want to see you enjoy it. Just don't behave like a girl. You know the sort--the one who thinks that if you've stuck your cock in her, you're going to marry her. Do you understand what I mean?" Again, I pushed with my fingers.

He winced and turned his head. "I do." He paused for a while, and when he spoke again, his voice wavered a little. "Could you kiss me at least?"

"Will you promise to stop crying if I do?"

He nodded. 

"Well, I suppose I can allow that, under the circumstances." 

I turned him onto his side and lay face to face with him, wet my fingers again and slipped my hand between his legs. And oh, the way he moaned into my kiss, the way he softened, the way his body relaxed for my fingers! I could have paused to bring the salve, but wanted to enjoy this pretend-truce for a moment at least. I also had to admit he was a good kisser, even more so now that he was emotionally distraught, his mouth salty from tears. Oh, and my arse, of course--damn and blast, I had forgotten, but whatever it was that I now tasted upon his tongue was only pleasant, the skill with which he kissed me back making my cock drag wet against his belly.

I was still sure he had, in fact, fallen in love with me--was it all that strange, given that I had just fulfilled his wildest dreams? I have a habit of doing that to people, I must admit, so I almost felt sorry for him, another pretty piece of tail whose heart I'd broken. Yet the fact that he submitted to me so completely that he was even willing to suppress his little crush on me was an aphrodisiac in and of itself, and I had never been good at this whole guilty conscience thing anyhow. 

Yet all good things must come to an end, including our four-course menu, and it was about time I was served dessert. 

"Get on your knees," I whispered into his mouth, sucking his now-swollen lips. "Arse in the air," and I brushed my wet fingers across his moustache so that he could smell himself tomorrow, remember what I had done to him. "Let me see what I'm going to fuck."

At that, a veritable _convulsion_ went through him; when he struggled into position, it was not all because of the belt around his wrists. Oh, no; he truly was born for this, born to offer his arse the way he did now, awaiting orders like the good little soldier boy he was.

I let him wait a while longer as I lit another cigarette and picked up the salve. Now that I could actually see his arsehole, see the way it had swollen from frequent use, I had to satisfy my curiosity. "Do you do this sort of thing often, then?" I smirked as I inserted a slickened finger.

"No," he gasped into the sheets, shifting in his position. "Just my fingers."

"Really?" I raised my eyebrow. By the looks of it, we weren't just talking one or two. "If I let you go, will you show me?"

"All right," he smirked, some of his old smug conceit creeping back onto his face. 

I let him have that and removed the belt from around his wrists, yet laid it down upon the bed meaningfully. "Just to remind you what'll happen if you try to run away," I said pleasantly.

Of course, his eyes lit up at that, and for a moment, I thought he would give it a try, but he busied himself rubbing circulation back into his hands instead. He almost seemed shy, a little hesitant as he turned to lie down on his left side, stroking his arse with his fingers. "Easier to get them in this way," he explained.

"Please, don't mind me," I said and pulled up a chair by the bed, pouring myself a whisky. 

The poor bastard--he must have thought I was being friendly with him, when I was merely using him to my advantage. Never had I met a man so vain, so stupendously blinded by his own ego--and combined with his equally stupendous lack of brain cells, this made said vanity his greatest vulnerability. In fact, I had been a little disappointed as I'd watched all my insults slide off him like water off a duck's back--what's the use of a good insult if it doesn't draw blood? I'd wanted to see inside of him, see him exposed to better slide in the knives of my taunts, but--well. Now he was literally exposing himself to me, his exhibitionism revealing the very insides of his flesh for me to slide into as I pleased. How could I not savour this, take a moment to just sit back and enjoy the ride?

For several minutes, he lay there masturbating, fingering himself, only pausing to scoop up a little more salve now and then. I must admit I was impressed, hardly touching my drink as I watched him stretch himself out, working three and now four fingers inside of himself. He had closed his eyes, his tongue trembling against the sheets as he fucked himself in this manner, his arse gaping pink as he tugged upon it, the greediest little mouth I ever saw. Within minutes, he had penetrated himself to the palm, his voice but a quiet lament as he fucked himself with his knuckles, sliding them in and out past the now loosened muscles of his arse. And all the while, he refused to touch his cock--the sensation must have been too intense for him to not come immediately had he done so. 

God, but this sight was _exquisite_. Yet, it could be made a little more exquisite by the introduction of a handsome Frenchman. I emptied my glass and saw him shiver as he heard me set it down on the table, as he heard my footsteps, as he felt me take my place behind him on the bed. I dipped into the salve and pushed two fingers in beside the four he was now stretching himself with, making him cry out helplessly into the bed. 

"Would you like me to fuck you now, Heinrich?" I asked sweetly, moving my fingers softly in and out of him. 

"Please," he gasped, his eyes still closed.

"Then lift up. As you were before. Spread yourself for me, there's a good boy, that's it."

For a moment, I but looked at his anus, the way it gleamed, pulsed, pursed itself shut as he held himself open for me. But only briefly, only briefly because I had waited long enough: I moaned as loudly as he did when I pushed inside and my cock slid in halfway immediately, easily. He whimpered, his hands fisted into the sheets, goosebumps breaking out all over his arms. And that's exactly why I loved this position, the depth of penetration it allowed--hell, despite my exhaustion, I squatted over him and straddled his hips to get even deeper.

"You--" or at least I think that's what he said, or maybe a "ja," or perhaps that had been but an indistinct howl?

"What's the matter?" I asked, as angelically as I could, the way I was now rocking into him, my balls slapping softly against his perineum. "Too deep for you? Hmm?"

"No," he spat into the sheets, the bed shifting and I realised he was reaching around to stroke himself. 

"None of that," I said and took the belt, and he was too far gone to protest (well, but for a few squirms and wails) as I tied his wrists behind his back once more. 

"Don't stop--" he shivered, leaned back against me, and I didn't. I fucked him with such force the bed creaked, fucked him the way he wanted to be fucked, helpless, the paragon of the master race now enslaved. I leaned in to listen, and the noises he now made as he buried his face into the sheets were unquestionably a litany of _"Ja, ja, ja."_

Good, because I could not keep this position up for long. "Are you going to come, then, Heinrich? Is that it?"

"Yes," he hissed, pushing back into my thrusts, desperate for more. 

"Maybe I'll come inside you, this time," I panted. "Would you like that?"

"Yes, yes, yes--" and then his words broke into but high-pitched noises.

Yet it was exactly at that moment that I stopped and dismounted so that I could kneel behind him, partially to deny him release, partially because my legs were shaking. Visually, I much preferred this position--I had always enjoyed the sight of my cock sinking inside someone--and God, he was taking me all the way even at this angle, fucking me back with his wide, pale hips. Why, if I squinted, I could almost imagine it was a woman's arse I was now thrusting into.

He, however, was furious at my having cut off his impending orgasm, slamming himself down upon me, creaking in time with the bed. "Don't tease, please, please, _Captain--_ " 

"What's the matter? Don't you want my come inside of you first?" I chuckled as I leaned over him, wrapping my hand around his hard little prick, forcing him to slow down. With a sweet, deep roll of my hips I distracted him; his cry was now little more than a hiccough. I continued to fuck him slowly, slowly, exactly because I was nearing the peak myself--even more so now that I felt how wet his cock was. "I've still got a nice big load for you here, Heinrich. Wouldn't you like to take it all? Have me _fill you up?_ " I let the words sluice wet out of my mouth as I kissed his ear.

"Hurry," he moaned, now, his accent now so atrocious it came out more like a "huwwy," and true, it looked like he was going to have a heart attack any minute. Pervert or not, I wasn't quite ready to take our relationship to that level yet, so I speeded up my thrusts, tugging on his cock in time.

"Almost there. You did suck me almost dry, you know. But I know how you like to make a mess, oh--" I laughed, rolling my hand over the dripping head of his cock. "How about I give you a little piss, hmm? Really fill up this little _cunt_?"

And at that, he _screamed,_ thrust and bucked between my cock and my fist. He really would have let me do it, now, and I knew it, and perhaps I did let a little trickle escape my cock, perhaps, perhaps. Yet the most important part was that now I was coming, his arse loose and slurping, making hideous, awful farting noises around my cock. Those noises were exactly what pushed me over the edge, made me cry out, slam into him so violently I was sure I pulled a muscle in my back. For a brief, dizzying moment, I was God, my _cock_ was God, punishing the wicked, serving the righteous, my red, fat, thrusting length now marbled with sperm. Oh, but it was beautiful, so beautiful I hated not being able to just throw myself upon him, to lie down on him to catch my breath.

No, no; dessert may have been served, but now it was time for cigars and cognac. 

My teeth still chattering from the force of my orgasm, I reached for the glass on the bedside table. He turned to glare at me over his shoulder, his eyes terrible from his fury, his hair falling over his cheeks. He made to extricate himself, yet I held him in place with a hand on his belly. I said nothing, only pulled my cock out of his body with extreme care. A final shiver of delight went through my balls at the way his arse gleamed, pulsed, gaping so open wide that for a brief moment I could see inside of him, see what I had left there. 

Swiftly, I pressed the glass to his perineum, just underneath his anus. 

"Push," I said cheerfully, as if we had agreed to this in the first place, as if this had been the very thing he had come here for. 

Berlin boy or not, even his eyes widened in shock at _that._ "You're joking."

I pretended not to understand. "All that screaming must have left you _so_ thirsty. Come on," I said, as if beckoning to a dog. "Come on."

He stayed still, and I could tell he was holding it in, deliberately clenching his arse shut. At that, I simply gave the telephone a meaningful glance. "We had an agreement, Heinrich. Are you telling me you're not a man of your word?" I said in mock-shock.

"You bastard, Renault, you filthy French scum," he groaned into the sheets. 

Yet I did not have time for his little endearments--there was a curvaceous bottle of champagne with my name on it waiting for me at Rick's, and I didn't like to keep a lady waiting. Therefore, I pushed my thumb into my dear Major's swollen little hole and _pulled._ And the wail he made, the way his cock jerked as my sperm slid out of his arse! 

"Come on," I crooned, "let it out. You were going to do it in the toilet anyway, but why waste it? I'm only going to show you what a good little boy you've been."

He was still desperate to come, and even if I couldn't see his face, his cock still betrayed him, twitching and dripping in obvious pleasure as he pushed the rest of my come out. His sobs were now quiet, the entirety of his body shaking from shame and fatigue as he shat out the last dribbles of it, until only wet farts would come out. 

"There's a good boy," I said, stroking his flanks, "there, there. Now, sit up."

He was beyond words, now, certainly beyond English, perhaps beyond even German as he struggled into a sitting position, his eyes huge and wet from tears. I lit a cigarette and held the glass up to the light, let him watch me, let him savour the sight of the man who had conquered him. He would never forget this night; he would be masturbating to its memory for the rest of his life. And he sure as hell would never find a lover who could give him what I had given him tonight--no, oh no; a Captain Louis Renault would haunt his dreams until the end of his days. 

I tilted the glass a little and exhaled, letting the smoke wrap around him, claiming him with it before I spoke. Let the lights and the colours be imprinted onto his memory, too: the golden halo from the smoke now curling around the bedside lights, the light now playing upon the glass, upon the white and the yellow and the brown swirling in it. 

"I am going to let you come in a minute, Heinrich, but there is one thing you must understand."

He but stared at me, his lips twitching a little, but he remained quiet, listening.

"I don't care about Laszlo," I said. "You and your little friends may deal with him as you please. But if you touch _a hair_ on Monsieur Rick's head--" pointedly, I glanced at the telephone once more. "What I mean to say is that if you harm him in any way, any way whatsoever, you're _finished._ " I put out my cigarette and held the glass out to him. "Is that understood?"

He kept on staring at me, and for a brief moment, I didn't know whether he was going to spit in my face or burst into tears. He looked at the glass, no longer a mere hint of filth, now, but the real thing, the defilement he had been yearning for, held up to his mouth as a reward. Yet he still hadn't answered me, still hadn't paid for the drink he so desired--this hesitation game was getting tiresome. He seemed to require some prompting, so I snatched his balls in my fist, rotating my wrist just enough to emphasise my point. _"Is that understood?"_

"Yes," he choked, his eyes burning with hatred, with lust, a shame sublime. 

"There," I said and began to finally stroke his cock, putting on my most reasonable tone. "That wasn't so difficult, was it? I told you we could sort this out amicably." I raised the glass. "How about a toast?"

He closed his eyes and shivered. "Hurry up and get it over with."

I tilted my head and turned my caress softer, far too soft to give him true pleasure but enough to tease. "I didn't hear you say 'please.'"

"Please," he groaned, and as I rewarded him with a firmer stroke, "Captain."

"Now, that's more like it," I said and pressed the glass to his lips. "Now, be a good little boy and take your medicine."

Again, he closed his eyes, looked like he was about to be sick, yet he opened his mouth. I crooned to him softly as I tilted his head back, pouring my come onto his tongue in small, delicate mouthfuls. "There. That's not so bad, is it? Hmm?" 

But he barely heard me; he was now shaking too much, true tears leaking out from underneath his lashes as he savoured the taste, the liquid ecstasy of my come, his shit and indeed, a sharp little spritz of piss. And he must have recognised it for what it was, too, because now he was unravelling in my hand, crying out loud as he came into my fist. He shook violently against me, piss and shit and come dribbling out of the sides of his mouth, smearing his moustache as he sobbed and snorted, revelled in his ultimate humiliation.

I almost loathed the moment the glass was finally empty and I smeared the dregs over his lips, that's how beautiful this tableau vivant was. When I released his hands and let him lie down on the bed, he kept staring past me, into some world only he could see--I was reminded of the trances of fakirs after they had intoxicated themselves with pain. Even as I dressed and tidied myself up, he didn't speak, only lay curled up on the bed with a faraway look on his face. 

With a gesture that would have been sentimental from anyone else, I reached out to stroke his hair. "Everything's going to be all right, now, Heinrich," I said warmly. "We have a bargain, haven't we?"

He sighed and nuzzled my hand, and even through his exhaustion, I fancied I could see a little smile. "We do," he murmured and kissed my palm. "Captain."

And _now_ he calls me that without prompting? Ah, well. Better late than never. "Good," I said, gave his hair a little ruffle and left the room. 

As I stepped out into the street, I glanced at my watch. That late? Well, well. How time flies when you're having fun.

Yes, fun; I suppose you could call it that--I always felt like I was walking on air after an orgasm or several. But I'd better not tarry; during times like these, Ricky needed me more than ever--he had never been that good with women, bless his soul. And now that Berlin's prettiest princess was out of the way, maybe I could, shall we say, _lubricate_ matters with the lovely Ilsa. 

I straightened out my tie, made sure my hat was on at a rakish angle and began to whistle, strolling towards Rick's Café Americain.

***

END

***

**Author's Note:**

> Rebloggable Tumblr promo post for the fic [here.](http://aikainkauna.tumblr.com/post/104077303473/fic-stratagem-louis-renaultheinrich-strasser)


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